


The Giant Cauldron

by Dragaeth



Series: Oneshots [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Gen, Headcanon, POV Peter Pettigrew, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragaeth/pseuds/Dragaeth
Summary: Pettigrew needs to find a cauldron large enough to resurrect his Master.
Relationships: Peter Pettigrew & Voldemort
Series: Oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015170
Kudos: 6





	The Giant Cauldron

Pettigrew knew he was a cowardly traitor. He has already betrayed his three best friends, and there was no chance for forgiveness. He was almost caught when Remus was the DADA professor, but escaped to the only man he knew would be able to hide him from the ministry and his vengeful ex-best friends. Lord Voldemort, man turned monster, was both his rescue and his prison guard. He never treated him well, but was the only way out. He endured crucios and gathered ingredients to resurrect him, constantly in fear of what Voldemort would do to him, hunching over more than his rat form did. He hoped for mercy, not to be killed and tortured once he had a body. 

But there was one problem. He was missing a cauldron. Not one approved by Snape, but one the size of a bedroom. Who the hell made those? How would he even get it to a muggle graveyard? No one sold one that big, as no one buys them. He would have to make one himself. He had no skills, how would he-

“ _ Crucio!”  _ Voldemort interrupted his inner turmoil, making writhe and scream for a brief moment, inflicting excruciating pain onto him that never lessened no matter how many times it was cast. When the spell was lifted, his mind cleared and realized he must’ve glimpsed at his mind. “If you cannot find one, make one!” the high raspy voice commanded from the disfigured scaly baby, sending shivers down his spine, joining the aftershock of the spell. 

“O-of course, master,” Pettigrew stuttered, scurrying away to avoid more spells hurling his way. He supposed he would have to somehow melt down muggle iron pans and cauldrons and somehow create a mold for the cauldron. He ignored his shaking hands and accioed pans from the closest muggle shop, apperating to his next location until he had about two shipments worth of pans. Now, he had to make a mold. The best thing he could think of was when he used to tunnel through the ground as a rat, dirt holding up its structure. So, he did just that, no matter how incorrect it was. He piled up a mound of dirt, pouring water over it for it to bind slightly. He evenly placed the pans on the mound, estimating the spread of molten iron. He also needed to somehow melt the iron. A simple fire wouldn’t work, it wasn’t hot enough. Fiendryre, however, would work. Trembling, doubtful he would be able to control it, began to cast. He started to sweat profusely under the heat and stress of the fire, feeling it eat away on his magic as the iron turned bright red, oozing to meet other melted pans. Clenching his teeth, he struggled with the spell, dragging the fire back into his wand. Unknowing if he succeeded or not, he passed out from exhaustion. 

Blinking blearily at the sun, mouth parched and eyes crusty, he sat up and drank water from a nearby pond. At least he controlled the fiendfyre, he laughed hesitantly and half hysterical, choking down the water. He glanced back at the cauldron. It had trails of iron spreading from the bottom, with the top part completely round. It had a few sponge-like textured holes littering the surface and insides of the cauldron. He levitated the cauldron off the mound, placing it on the ground. It rolled around a little, sections from the trailed iron bumping into the ground, preventing it from turning over completely. He quickly accioed a table from some muggle home, flipping it upside down and placing the cauldron onto the legs. It was more stable now, so he cut off the excess pieces of iron, apparating with it to the graveyard, readying himself for he-who-must-not-be-named’s judgement, downing a calming drought.  


**Author's Note:**

> idk, just felt like writing this, the fact that pettigrew just had a huge cauldron lyring around just bothered me so much i had to write this.


End file.
